


Rooftop

by gothjotun



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 14:18:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20341510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothjotun/pseuds/gothjotun
Summary: In that moment, the clouds broke open, just a bit. The moon's rays dusted over Morty’s tanned cheeks, surreptitiously at first, then all at once. They started to illuminate his irises as the light bled deeply into the darkness of his eyes. The bicolored brown was so stark against each other, reminding Rick of Morty’s own duality with his head and his heart. He wasn’t sure which the darker color represented out of the two.





	Rooftop

_Night comes as prophesied_

_ Cyclical, the dusks predecessor _

_ Gentle jotun made up of the moons shedding carcass feed off a supple and simple diet of sun rays _

_ They spit out stars like shells and seeds _

_ They bring out the worst in us _

_ If anything connects human beings together, it’s the 3 am thoughts _

_ This sadness! This generous, sadness _

_ This suffocating illness _

_ They will ravage your flesh with their roots _

_ And they will replant themselves from your ribs _

_ Devouring the bone _

_ And they will _ ** _eat your heart_ **

With the devil stitched to his spine, and God stapled to his knuckles, it hurt Morty to realize that were was conflict within himself. If he looked behind him, he could view his sins for what they were. But looking hurt, and so did moving forwards. He had the strength to fight this demon, but he didn’t trust in his hands to choke out the sadness. He was a nonbeliever in miracles, or fighting with himself and winning. It took all of Morty’s methods to stay afloat in this raging sea subjected to him at birth. 

It pulled him down, brought him to his knees. It required the strength of a titan to keep his head above the tide when he felt like drowning in the undertow. Ten thousand versions of himself drowning in ten thousand seas, cold and reckless, disassembled.

It took everything not to completely let himself fall like cards into countless sobbing and broken pieces. The duality between his head and his heart was staggering. His pulse only beat out of fear and his ears rang from the lonely quietness around him. His organs were on the verge of a chronic collapse as it became a challenge to sleep. Sadness makes it easy skipping meals, it tells you it’s natural to experience pain, and he was convinced it was okay not to feel anymore. 

Growing older, he's devolved quite a bit. He’s become more tired, and everything added up until he didn't even know why he hasn’t killed himself yet. It was the build up until the breakdown, and suddenly he found himself questioning if anything was worth it. 

Morty was only 15 and he was already subjected to life’s recurring bullshit.

As he lay in bed crying, he would remember something told to him by his mother. He grew up in a world catered to people unlike himself, and the only solace he had was connecting to his eccentric grandpa. 

It was something that always stuck with him as a drunken Beth was rambling nonsense about how unfair things were for her. 

_ Sometimes to be strong we have to suffer. _

It drains him everyday and yet he's still drowning, still and silent, the dust settles on Morty’s opened eyes. He’s just a beating heart within a marble frame as he lays there on the battered mattress, box springs sticking to his shirt. 

It hurts. That's nothing unique. There's no delicate poetry to express how he feels, there's no sweet song that describes his thought process. He was a savant when it comes to suffering, and there doesn’t exist a tender tune to lead him to the light.

It just hurts.

Like a copy of God, Morty crafted from the nothingness a single thought, which led to a half hearted emotion, and from that, a physical sense of being. It was a slow process, it always was, but he came back, he always would. And that’s what truly made him human.

So he got up, his body shuddering like a leaf as his faith was as weak as his frame, and he moved forwards like he always did. But something was different this time.

He checked his phone, no texts. Not from his friends, not from Rick, not from anyone. Morty tossed it on the bed carelessly.

He was too soft. Too sweet. He loved too easily, too much, was too clingy, and never enough. Being full of tenderness hurts.

He was falling apart, and there was no one here that cared.

Definitely not Rick either. And Morty wasn't disappointed in that. It was probably a good thing, lest he get publicly made fun of for it. Morty genuinely wondered what he would say if he told him all these things that have gone wrong for him, but he just assumed that he would laugh it off or tell him to man up. 

Never open up your heart to someone who isn't completely tied to it. 

He was a lost vessel in the world of Rick. Smiling hurt his chapped lips but he couldn't help it. Laughing damaged his throat but he couldn't repress it. He felt sick to his stomach as he sat there on the floor, crying and laughing for a while. Morty held his face in his hands, his giggles turning louder and more broken, his hands sliding up his face to grip his hair as he gritted his teeth and let out a frustrated noise. 

No one loved him. He was sorry he was a let down. He was annoying and the weight of it all never settled until now. The weight of his grandpa telling him that he's worthless and the weight of his favorite person giving him a gift he didn't even deserve. 

_ I'm insignificant_.

And his parents, Jesus Christ, all he's done was stress them out. He's cut off the hand that feeds him and he's back stabbed and burned those who have protected him. 

He believed, genuinely, that he's ruined all of his relationships with everyone around him.

But does a person believe in anything fully? 

Do we ever remember everything correctly?

Morty got up off the floor, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, and thought about all the fights he's had with people he cared about. He thought about how after that, he faded away into the nothingness that severed his insides and bruised his outsides. 

Morty now stood at the edge of his mattress, his reminiscing over as muted remorse made its way past his ribs and up to his throat. It was difficult to breathe, he was left unable to speak, and with being left unable to speak, he couldn't talk himself into going to bed that night. 

He was just, stood there. In a contradictory state of contemplating as his mind was dull but his thoughts were fighting the point of the situation. Should he sleep tonight? Morty’s human body craved it, but his brain, his brain was a different matter. He couldn't sleep remembering all the things he had seen.

Despite the brain being a part of the body, Morty seemed to separate the two, taking care of one instead of the other. And with neglect on the others half, it would eventually affect whichever side he chose as well. Morty hadn't comprehended this yet.  
  
If he slept, he would have nightmares, and he would wake up more tired than he was before. If he didn't sleep, he'd be left alone with the intrusive thoughts, his mind was a bitter organ as it seemed more self destructive than helpful. It allowed him to remember so much good, and at the same time it allowed him to remember all the bad. This would happen until he passed out.

He yawned, swaying a little in the process.

_ No. _

His clouded mind was so frustrated, it was so frustrated. He was so tired, so tired. Annoyed tears leaked from his eyes and collected at his chin before dripping down onto the floor. 

Morty just wanted rest.

And there was comfort in death.

That's something he thought about for a while. Something he dwelled on quite often, actually. He could just leave. No one would notice. They turned their backs on him for the last time.

_ Okay. _

So maybe he would do it. Maybe he would go through with it. Maybe this time, he really would. 

Morty checked his phone once more, and started texting Rick again. It was kind of hard to see as his vision was blurry from tears, but he started typing. Morty would always go to Rick for surreptitious comfort when he was feeling sad, and acknowledging this, he stopped.

_ hey rick. i know you're probably busy but i was just wondering if you wanted to talk for a while. i can't sleep and I want you to teach me about cool science shit. _

God, he was annoying.

He was so. Annoying.

Why would he even care? Morty made a soft, hurt sound and backspaced until there was nothing left. He sniffled, then swallowed as his throat felt dry. He was so stupid. Pathetic. The old man had better and more important things to do than to talk to him when he was feeling down.

He looked down at the phone again and started typing.

_i'm annoying and i'm sorry. i won't bother you anymore. i'm sorry you have to be related to me. all i do is make you upset so i understand why you don’t like me. you'll always be my best friend though-_

Morty paused for a minute, properly crying. It felt like swallowing sand when he acknowledged that it was one sided. Rick was his best friend, but Morty wasn’t Rick’s best friend. Obviously. It was really insulting that Rick didn’t even _ have _ friends. 

_ -this is retarded but i really love you a lot!- _

He deleted that line, then retyped it, deciding it could stay even though he thought that Rick would find it embarrassing. Laughable, even. But if he was dead then who cares?

_ -i wanna be just like you! i've always wanted to be just like you. but i know i’ll never be, and that's okay. everyone’s a better choice than me- _

He thought about retyping it, but it was the truth so he kept it.

_ -i'm just a big mistake- _

It was really getting hard to breathe, there was a hole in his chest where his softness used to be.

_ -i don't matter- _

He had to take a break as his hands were shaking so badly he could barely hold his phone. The problem with humans is that our own heart is the only one we can truly understand, and god, that realization is painful. 

_ -i hurt everyone around me. there's nothing poetic about that- _

He hates himself.

_ -don’t come looking for me- _

He loathes himself.

_ -i’m sorry you had to deal with me, you won't have to anymore. sleep well okay? I love you. goodnight.- _

Goddamn this sadness.

He hit send, then sighed shakily. Morty remembered all the times where Rick would verbally beat him up or belittle him, scare him, make fun of him. In his mind, if someone tells you you're worthless, then you probably are. 

Fuck it.

He started typing again. 

_ -i don't even like myself, you're not the only one- _

More tears came.

_ -i acknowledge that i’m worthless, you don't have to tell me anymore. i understand now- _

A physical ache in his chest.

_ -so i’m going to fix that- _

_ ... _

_ -tell my mom i’m sorry- _

_ ... _

_ -you’ll forget my name in 6 months- _

_ ... _

_ -and don’t look at my body when they find it- _

Morty was so caught up in his distressed noises and shaky hands that he didn't double check the texts he was sending, but it didn't really matter anyway. The point was made, no need to push it.

_ -i love you, sleep well. be safe. please _

He shoved his phone in his pocket and looked around the room. This was the last time he’d ever be in it again, and that realization didn't really settle with him. He opened his door then closed it quietly behind him, sighing softly to himself. Morty made his way out of his home. The air was cold, which didn't help as his body was already trembling slightly. He couldn’t afford to care.

_ You know what's funny when someone jumps off of a building? _

Morty decided to go to the rooftop where he and Rick would go to eat lunch every day. 

_ Their body bounces on impact. _

He made his way up in no rush. It was about midnight, everyone else was asleep, or maybe watching tv. He was sure Rick was awake. The old man was simultaneously a night owl and an early bird.

“Hmph.”

What a wonderful realization. He wouldn't have to deal with anything anymore. So Morty stood up there for awhile, thinking about nothing, just enjoying the cold night. He sniffled gently, blinking a couple times before he took his phone out.

No texts.

He checked Rick’s messages anyways.

Read, but no reply.

_ Oh. _

Understanding people isn't hard, it's impossible. We’re all afraid in ways we don't need to be and we all have cared about someone that forgets us too easily. 

He didn't feel abandoned. He just felt cast aside. 

_ My lights have gone out _

Morty looked up and wiped his nose with his sleeve.

_ There are no stars in my sky _

Liquid started seeping down his freckle covered cheeks and down his neck. 

_ You’re all I used to care about _

He gave up.

_ And now I won't be alright for a very long time _

He stepped forwards, slow in his gait. Morty had all the time in the world to do this. He stood near the ledge, his palms clammy and his face flushed from the fear. The dizziness didn't help, he stumbled a foot back, blinked a couple times, then took the initial step forwards again. 

It was a long, long way down. 

Morty had bled more times than he has cried, and now he will die alone as he has wept alone.

His mouth was incredibly dry, it hurt to swallow because of it. He cleared his throat, his intention now to keep going forwards, so he closed his eyes, and started walking.

“Morty you stupid asshole!”

A hand gripped the back of his shirt and pulled him back so forcefully he knocked Rick down to the ground with him. There was awkward movement as Rick pinned his arms down as he straddled him.

“You dumb bastard, what the fuck is wrong with you!” He meant to say it forcefully, but Rick’s voice cracked and wavered in the process. “You're- you- stupid..fuck you!” He squeezed Morty’s wrists, not too hard, but enough to keep him from fighting back. 

“Why did you- what the fuck- why did you..? Stupid-” Rick’s throat closed up so he stopped talking for a moment. Morty could feel his grandpa’s body trembling on top of his, his grip on his wrists weakening as he slumped over a bit.

“T-Tell me why!”

Morty was taken so aback in the last minute that it took him a second to comprehend what was happening. What surprised him more than anything is that his grandpa had actually bothered to stop him from jumping.

“Mortimer!”

Morty was forced to look at his face, his red eyes were wet with tears and his jaw was clenched. And for the first time in a while, he spoke.

“I never forget the shit that hurts! A-And I always overthink and overreact, and it's sickening!”

“What got you to this point?” The old man’s voice was barely aggressive, but it felt tense. 

Morty figured he was trying to come across as angry, but it looked like he was scared instead.

“I'm such a burden- don't, Rick, just listen.”

Rick closed his mouth as he was immediately going to retort with something. 

“No one wants me around, you make that obvious enough. And I'm not being snarky, I'm saying, I'm saying that I understand now. I-I know why. And it's okay, because I hate me, too.”

“Morty-”

“Don't convince me that things are guna be alright, cause i-i-it'll hurt more when it's not. Don't even try with me.”

Rick sighed, his grip completely going lax. He slumped over completely as he buried his face into Morty’s shoulder. 

“You're so- you're stupid. An idiot.” He said half heartedly, Morty noticing that he sounded exhausted. 

“Come here you retard. I love you.”

Rick wrapped his arms around Morty’s thin frame, squeezing him tightly. He held him for a long moment before pulling his face away, the genius rubbing soft circles on his grandson’s cheeks.

In that moment, the clouds broke open, just a bit. The moon's rays dusted over Morty’s tanned cheeks, surreptitiously at first, then all at once. They started to illuminate his irises as the light bled deeply into the darkness of his eyes. The bicolored brown was so stark against each other, reminding Rick of Morty’s own duality with his head and his heart. He wasn’t sure which the darker color represented out of the two. 

The soft amber reminded the old man of moths waltzing around the lamp lights at night. All while the gentle giants in the sky fed off a supple and simple diet of stars and navy moonlight at the sound of passing cars early in the foggy mornings. 

Morty’s sadness sewed his eyes shut and shoved cotton into his ears. It poured hot wax across his lips as it dared him to cry out in pain towards the others around him, encouraging him to lash out blindly amongst his family. But here, here he could be calm, soft, loving, a gentle tide in his own sea which seemed to be storm heavy more often than he’d like to admit. 

A hurricane can’t run from its own rain, and it can’t be controlled or withheld before its time. Rick knew that, and so did Morty. 

However, the old man was built on the strongest and most brutal of bedrock. His grains of sand had been swept away previously by his grandson’s oncoming winds that came with needs and pleading. Rick had to be strong, so he was. He moved his roots deeper, past the soil and dirt, the soft footing and sand. Rick went deep, until he reached the heart of the earth that refused to be covered in weeds.

It was strong, and it was hot, yet it appears dark. You know the heart exists, you can’t see it, but you feel it. You feel it pulse in your head from pain, you feel it ache in your chest from heartbreak, you feel it in shockwaves down to your lungs out of repressed loved, and you feel it ripping open your gut and letting the fear stumble out like a newborn calf.

The earth graces us with her colors as our insides grace her with ours as vultures pick and pry into the carcass past our crushed ribs. We return to the earth, whether you value the weight of your life or not.

And here, Morty’s eyes sparkled with liquid fire, the two coinciding instead of putting each other out. 

And here, Morty found a reason to believe he’d be okay. 

_ Rick acknowledged his darkness, but found good in it. _

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! If you liked this, leave a kudos or a comment! Give me more suggestions for writing :]


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